Mercenary
by chris steel
Summary: AU Thrawn fic. Thrawn meets a mercenary who has the potential to save his navy but she is being misled by Thrawn's enemies. including a Takan commander and Thrawn's own sister. Kirah must decide which side to help- and just how far she wants to go
1. 1

a/n: if you've been reading my other stories and wondering whether I've moved to Africa or died or something, NO! I've been busy with finals and moving and all that garbage.  
  
Disclaimer: Do I really need to say that I don't own Star Wars? Please. Anybody out there think I DO?  
  
Another note: First- this IS a Thrawn fic. He's in here. If you can't figure out which one he is, you probably have the wrong story. Second- this is also an AU fic. Meaning if you're a diehard Imperial fan, you're probably in the wrong place, too. There are very few scenes showing Thrawn as an Imperial. I don't want to tell too much here, but if a few major deviations in Thrawn's story would get you all annoyed, do yourself a favor and don't read it.  
  
And if you're still reading after all that. . .. .  
  
One  
  
At noon, the warehouse that was headquarters for the Densvule Mercenaries was as close to empty as it ever got. There were a few guys wandering around, but otherwise, it was deserted. Most of the other mercs were sleeping, working, or out drinking.  
Kirah Siljor, dressed in her traditional black jumpsuit with a blaster on each hip, was lounging on a grungy gray chair near the east wall, her legs and black-booted feet dangling over one of the armrests. Her steely blue-gray eyes tracked the movement within the vast room, waiting.  
Turk had said noon. She didn't have to look at her wrist chrono to know it was past that now. He hadn't given her a new assignment last night after finishing her last one. No, he had merely said to meet him in the front room of the warehouse at noon. He obviously wanted her to do something for him, something quiet. Well, she'd give him five more minutes.  
Shortly before her deadline was up, the leader of the Densvule Mercs made his way into the warehouse from the alley entrance. Turk was a huge human- tall, wide, and strong as an angry gundark. He had arms like a Wookiee, and a neck like a tree-trunk. His long, tan hair was sloppily bound into a ponytail and a short goatee scraggily graced his chin. His eyes, shiny, black, and locked into a permanent glare, always watched everything that was going on around him, giving anyone that could see them the impression that he was rather paranoid. It was an accurate assumption.  
Turk spotted her and walked over. She looked up at him when he stopped at her chair. "Hello, Turk," she said, swinging her legs around into a sitting position. "What's got you in such a good mood?" Indeed, the irritable man's usual scowl was gone for the moment.  
"You hear of some guy named Gyris?" he asked without preamble, fixing his beetle-eyes on her solidly.  
She frowned. "I've heard of the word," she said, shrugging. "Gyris is the god of lightning in Fornaughti myth. And then there's a painting by Chassau called Gyris Awakening."  
"Great, Professor" he snorted. "You hear of the guy, Kaye? This's what I pay ya for."  
"No," she corrected. "You pay me- on commission, I might add, and a hell of a lot less than I deserve- for blowing things up or knocking things down, among other things. Not for selling information. That's what Lidda's for."  
He scowled briefly, but it had no real feeling behind it. Behind his surly attitude, he really did put up with a lot. He was good at what he did, Kirah thought. Mercs had attitudes, and he knew it, not bothering to blow up every time someone made a smartass comment. Which she did often. He had managed his group all the way to the top of the heap on this cesspool of a planet.  
"That yer fancy way of telling me you don't know, mochilla?"  
She chuckled. "Yeah, I guess it is."  
"Ya know, normal people would justa said 'no'."  
"I'm not normal," she replied. "You want me to find out about this guy, then? I can swing over to Lidda's if you're too scared of her to do it yourself."  
"Hate that bitch," he muttered, scowling at the name. Then he looked at her again, his eyes having wandered across the warehouse briefly. "No, I know all I hafta bout him. Just wondering if you did."  
She raised an eyebrow curiously, still peering up at the brutish- looking man. "Can't say I do," she admitted. "Why? Should I?"  
"Thought you might be interested," he said in a lazy drawl. "Heard he's some sorta super-merc or something like that from Bregg lookin' for better game here on Jada."  
Kirah felt her stomach harden into ice. Was he looking for her, or, through her, Havik Fletch? "You sure he's a merc?" she asked cautiously. "Not a smuggler or bounty hunter or something?"  
"Damn, girl, yes, he's a merc," Turk growled. "Why the hell ya think I'm talking ta you? People been talking bout him- he's fer hire, girl, haven' ya heard nothin'?"  
Kirah wasn't very relieved. "Alright, alright," she said. "I get it. You're afraid I'm gonna lose all the big jobs to him, is that it?"  
"Sith, no," he said. "Listen ta me fer once, mochilla. Got a meeting with him today. Hear he's been askin' round bout the Dens. Wants ta join up."  
Kirah snorted. "If he's so good, why not stay solo? Makes a hell of a lot more than whatever percentage you're going to give him."  
"Why don't you?" he countered.  
She frowned at him. "Don't give me ideas, Turk."  
He rolled his eyes a moment before saying, "'cause all the big jobs come through us groups 'cause we have 'resources.' Now ya wanna come with me and meet him, or do I forgetcha?"  
"Course I'm going," she said. "Gotta check out the competition, after all. Want me to hang behind and be your backup?"  
"You?" he snorted. "Lookitcha. He'd know you were there the second ya came in. Might as well just come right out bout it."  
"You've already got backup in place, in other words," she said, a little peeved. She didn't think she was that obvious- nobody had ever accused her of not being a mercenary, as of yet.  
"Yup. Now c'mon. Let's go."  
Kirah climbed up and followed him to the speeder. This was not good news, not at all. She didn't need the attention that major competition would bring her, but she needed the money she was bringing in. Turk drove them to a cantina downtown in his wreck of a speeder, and they walked in. The room was nearly full, a band playing tinny music in the back. Turk glanced around with his dark eyes and then started off through the crowd.  
Kirah followed after him, keeping pace through the crowd of humans and aliens. Along the back wall, Turk slipped into a booth. Kirah followed suit, evaluating this super-merc as she did. Before she even hit the seat, her breath threatened to freeze in her lungs. Only through sheer willpower did she keep any expression from her face.  
The unfamiliar man in the booth was studying her right back, not attempting to hide it. His glinting red eyes ran over her, obviously sizing her up. After a moment, he settled them on her own eyes and said, "You must be Kaye."  
"And you must be Gyris," she said, her voice remarkably calm. He was a Chiss. The thought whirled around in her brain. He was only the second Chiss she had ever seen outside the Unknown Region. They didn't like to travel far, as a rule. Why was he here?  
He nodded politely. "I am."  
So even Chiss mercenaries were courteous, she thought to herself. She knew only a few Chiss, since they had only begun to move to Atochi when she left. But she had known Liana for years, her tutor that taught her Cheunh, and she had been remarkably polite. There was Gad, the Chiss boy from school, somewhat obnoxious at times but a very nice guy nevertheless. And then there was Grand Admiral Thrawn. She had met him three times, and each time he had been polite to her.  
"So you're my competition, then," he mused, leaning back in his seat. He had a way of moving, not to mention a confident air, Kirah mused on with an uncomfortable feeling, that she connected to warriors. He didn't even have to stand up for her to see he was good. And dangerous. He looked strong, too. He was wearing a black tank-top, giving her a good view of well-defined muscles in his arms and hinting at the same beneath the fabric on his chest. There were two scars evident on his face. A jagged one crossing his chin on the right, and a smaller one on the corner of his right eye. The results of vibroblade injuries untouched by bacta.  
Well, she loved a challenge, she thought, letting out a deep breath. She'd fought difficult battles before.  
She gave him half a grin and said, "That's what Turk tells me, anyway. Good thing. It's been getting boring around here lately."  
"Don't worry," he said, not a hint of bluster or arrogance in his voice. "I plan to do my best to make sure you won't be bored." He knew he was good.  
She gave him a playful look, refusing to be intimidated. "You think you'll be taking over at the top? Then I suppose we'll really see who's the best after all."  
He finally returned with a faint smile. "I suppose we will."  
"Stang," Turk said, looking between each other. "So's that how it is? The real good mercs all talk like ya, Kaye?"  
She shrugged. "I talk how I want to talk. I don't care if you butcher Basic. Why should you care if I don't?" She looked at him innocently.  
He scowled again before saying, "Good thing ya get along. Yer taking care of yer new buddy here, mochilla. Show him around, get him a room. Then yer taking him along on yer little job tonight. I'll give ya a ten percent bump on the job if ya shut up and don't complain. Standard trainin' rate. And don't let 'im die. I don't care if you'd rather work alone."  
She snorted lightly. "And how much is it worth, Turk? Five? Ten grand?"  
"Forty-two," he said. He glanced at Gyris, then back to her, waiting for her response.  
Kirah mentally calculated. That was over twenty-five thousand credits. Big job, very big. "Interesting choice for a training round," she said. She glanced at Gyris. "Though if rumors are true, you hardly need training, do you."  
"No, I don't," he said, shrugging slightly. "Though I imagine you and your people want to see what I can do."  
"Bright boy," Kirah said. She turned to Turk and said, "Good choice, boss, I don't think he's gotten too many stuns to the head yet."  
Turk didn't laugh, but then, he rarely did. "Let's keep yer special brand o' humor out of it, eh, girl?" he said gruffly. "No needa piss the man off." He looked at Gyris and said, "Kaye's good at what she does. Thinks she's clever, but gots no common sense."  
"Ouch, Turk," Kirah said, putting her hand to her chest, over her heart. "That really hurts my feelings. You better watch it, or you'll make me cry."  
He turned to Gyris, ignoring her. "Now let's get a few things straight," he said. "Ya'll get ten percent for tonight. Kaye's in charge. After that, you'll be gettin' twenty-five on each job. That's non- negotiable, or however ya wordy people call it. That's better than just bout all of my regulars; if ya bring in enough, we'll talk bout bumpin' it a little."  
Kirah scowled slightly. She herself had started at five percent. Months later, after firmly establishing herself as the best merc in the group, maybe even the region, she had to threaten to quit before being raised to fifteen. Only recently, as more and more people began asking for her personally, and she threatened to kick Turk's ass, did she get up to fifty percent, where she stood now.  
Gyris noticed her expression, but he didn't comment. He nodded. "That will be acceptable."  
"Good," Turk replied, almost sarcastically. "Kaye, when ya show him the ropes, don't ya leave anything out. I don't care how good ya are, I mean it."  
"Don't worry," she reassured him. "I play fair. Otherwise it's not a real win, is it."  
He made a noise low in his throat. "Whatever ya say," he replied. "I got stuff to do. Don't take yer time bout it." He got up and left the table, disappearing into the crowd.  
Kirah turned her full attention to Gyris now. He had half a glass of some sort of amber liquid at his elbow that, as she watched, he picked up and sipped. "Can I get you a drink?" he asked after setting it back down, seeing her watching.  
"No," she said. "We should get going. You have a speeder, or are we stuck wading through the cesspool?"  
He studied her again, looking almost amused. "Yes," he said after a moment. "I have a speeder."  
She nodded. "Good," she said. "Then finish your drink and we can get a move on."  
He tossed a coin on the table, a ten credit piece, and stood up smoothly. "Very well," he said. Kirah flickered her eyes over him as she rose. He did move like a trained fighter, and the faded fatigues he wore didn't detract from the image. She spotted several patched areas on the pants, including one area that appeared to be the charred remnant of a blaster bolt. He also wore heavy combat boots. Quite the tough-guy look, she thought to herself. Last year, when she had first come here, this man would have intimidated her. Now, she didn't care enough to be intimidated. At the worst, she could leave and find a merc job somewhere else. It wasn't like she was short in time. She rather doubted she would be killed by him, but hey, she thought. If she was, that certainly solved most of her problems, now didn't it?  
They set off through the crowd. He cut through the crowd, and she followed him outside. He led her down the street a distance, his hand near the blaster he had strapped to his right hip. Kirah did the same. The muggers here were the dangerous sort. Confident. They didn't give a flying gundark's left wing who you were or what your reputation was. They'd slit your throat and take your creds at their leisure. Luckily, they were cautious about their own skin, so they wouldn't shoot one part of a pair in case the other got a shot off.  
They made it to a speeder parked in front of a chain-link fence. It was the ugliest thing Kirah had ever seen with a repulsor attached. A pale green color, it was spotted with rust. The engine looked like it needed repairs, and she suspected the repulsors would look similar underneath. Either he opted to travel in a piece of junk to prevent it from being stolen, or he disguised a high-performance vehicle to look like this. Either way, there were better-looking speeders to steal; right now, she could see two. The only bonus was that it had a roof.  
She tried the door. It was unlocked. Obviously, no thief with brains would want this speeder. But plenty of them would try it to see if it really was only disguised.  
Her hope that it was really some sort of super-speeder vanished as Gyris tapped the ignition pad with the starter wand. At first the engine sputtered. The speeder lurched upward as the repulsors belatedly kicked in. Kirah watched in some amusement as Gyris cursed in a mishmash of languages, mostly Chissi and what she thought was Pinast, under his breath. He stabbed the pad viciously before bending down to grope under the steering column.  
He fiddled with the wires revealed there for a moment, and suddenly, the engine sputtered to life, backfiring loudly. Kirah bit her lip to prevent a laugh. Gyris looked irritated enough already. He slammed the panel shut and pulled onto the road.  
"Nice ride you've got, partner," Kirah said with a slight smile.  
He had a sour expression on his face. "The only speeder safe on this blaster planet is the kind that doesn't work, and the parts are so bad that it would be a safety hazard to try to gut it."  
Kirah chuckled. "Well, you beat it into submission this time, Guy. Nice trick, by the way. Hotwiring doesn't usually work if the engine's just a chunk of rust."  
He shrugged. "Just be glad it worked." He shot her a look. "Or we'd be wadding through the cesspool." 


	2. 2

Two  
  
"So," Kirah said. "You know where we're going?"  
"Not in the least," Gyris admitted.  
"Okay," she said, leaning back against the ripped and sparsely padded seat. "Take a left up here and just keep going until you pass a big ol' sign. It used to say Big Bend Shipping, but there's so much graffiti on it you might not be able to tell. Take a left past the Enit Brick & Stone place."  
"So how long have you worked with the Dens?" Gyris asked, taking the left she had indicated.  
"About nine standard months," she said, holding her blaster in her lap, watching the outside. She had discovered why the doors weren't locked- they couldn't be. "You sure this thing won't blow up?"  
"I certainly hope so," Gyris said. "So what's it like working for Turk?"  
Kirah shrugged. "Better than working alone, to tell you the truth. They take some of my pay, but I use up more in supplies than I give them, so I'm actually making out. Plus, he finds you all the good jobs. And nobody gives you a hard time if they know you can kick the crap out of them."  
"Comforting," Gyris said dryly.  
"What about you?" she asked. This was a new experience for her- a mercenary that would hold a conversation. She was glad to talk to anyone after so long here. "I hear you're here from Tralis looking for, how did Turk put it? Bigger game, I believe it was."  
Gyris smiled slightly. "They're more opportunities here," he said, "with less risk. It sounds much better than Tralis."  
Kirah wrinkled her nose. "You've got a right to your opinions, I suppose," she said. "Good as you are, you're probably used to much better speeders than this, hmm?"  
He actually chuckled briefly. "Yes, you could say that," he said. "There are ups and downs to everything."  
"That's certainly true," she said. "That's the turn up there."  
He nodded. "So, Kaye," he said. "Do you have a last name, or is that one of the little facts you prefer to keep quiet?"  
"Quiet, yes," she said, "but it's not a secret. You want to check my background, I assume?"  
"Naturally." He turned another left.  
"Yes, naturally," she said. "You can find it under Kerri Ford."  
"Ah," he said. "That's unusually generous."  
She gave him a grin. She had no doubt his record was a false as hers. He hardly seemed like a god or a Fornaught. "Only fair to reciprocate."  
"You seem quite stuck on things being fair," Gyris observed.  
She shrugged. "Turn right. It's the big warehouse at the end."  
He followed her directions. "How old are you?" he asked.  
She glanced at him and said, "Don't worry, it's all in my profile, big guy."  
"I'm curious," he said.  
Her age in the bio was true- her Imperial one was not. So she smiled and said, "I'm eighty-three. How old are you? Forty?"  
He gave her a sour look. "Twenty-five," he said. "Where do I park?"  
"Around back," she replied. "I'm nineteen."  
"If you don't want to answer, just say so," he said, following a path to the parking ditch in the rear of the warehouse.  
She glanced over at him and said, "What- I really am nineteen. I'll be twenty in a month or two."  
He looked skeptical. "You've been here since you were eighteen?"  
"Yup," she said.  
He shook his head, either in amazement or disbelief, before shutting the speeder down. It sputtered again before sinking to the ground. "I can't believe I'll be taking orders from a teenager tonight."  
She turned to give him her worst scowl, but it died when she saw that he was smiling. "Just kidding," he said mildly, climbing out of the speeder.  
"Damn right you are," she said, getting out on her own side and slipping her blaster back into its holster.  
"I've heard the stories about you," he assured her as they headed toward the warehouse entrance. "I know you're good at what you do."  
"Good," she said. "Because if you say something like that again, I'll have to challenge you to a duel to defend my honor, and I don't want to do that because I get the impression I'll get a few bruises before I kill you."  
"Quite the confident one, aren't you," he said.  
Kirah led him to the disguised rear doorway. It had no control panel, no handle to let them in. She stopped and said, "They're controlled on the inside by guards. They get paid out of what we don't get to keep." She raised her voice slightly. "Damn it, Regs, you know it's me. And he's Gyris, Turk's new guy. Let me in."  
A voice came from a hidden speaker above the door, sounding tinny. "What's the password?"  
Kirah growled under her breath before saying, "I'm the one who made it up, Regs. Crayfish claws. Now open up."  
"Sorry, Kaye, that's the old one. What's today's?"  
She blinked and said, "What are you talking about?"  
She heard laughter, and then the door swung open with a shrill creak that hurt her teeth. Regs, a huge, muscular, dark-brown skinned human, stood in the doorway, still laughing. "Shoulda seen yer face, Kaye," he chuckled.  
She rolled her eyes, pushing into the wide expanse beyond. "You're not funny, Regs," she informed him.  
The large man guffawed one more time before saying, "So you gonna introduce us, Kaye?"  
Kirah shrugged. "Regs, Gyris. He thinks he's better than me."  
Regs laughed again. "Nobody's better than you, kid. Fun to watch him try, anyways."  
"Gyris, this is Regs," Kirah said. "He thinks he's funny."  
Gyris nodded. Regs drew himself up and said, "I am Reginald Howitzer Wilhelm II," he said. Then he grinned. "Butcha can call me Regs."  
"Nice to meet you," Gyris said.  
"Yeah, same here," Regs said. His eyes sparkled cheerfully. "Want a piece of advice? Don't let her stick ya in the end rooms. They flood. Specially the west one."  
"Thank you," Gyris said. "I'll keep that in mind."  
"Later, Regs," Kirah said. "I've got to show him around."  
Regs let them go. "He's about the only nice guy around," Kirah said. "Him and Chalmer. Chalmer sells us food."  
"Ah," Gyris said.  
Kirah proceeded to point out the various areas in the warehouse. "That stuff on the left, the crates and shit, is storage. You borrow anything, you gotta check it out with Dru." She nodded at a green-skinned male Twi'lek, a burly fellow with thick lekku, sitting in a folding chair, arms folded. "He's our supply guy. Controls the flow. He's got all the jobs and stuff on a datapad somewhere, so he knows if you're taking something for a job or lifting it, usually. If you're taking more than Turk or one of his flunkies feel is necessary, you usually get shot."  
"Standard setup for this sort of organization," Gyris said, studying the supplies. "That's everything? Munitions?"  
"Blasters, power packs, vibroblades, rope, thermal detonators, medpacks, cable, wire cutters, lots of stuff. If you can't get it here, Turk can get it for you, or you can visit a supplier in town and charge it to him. Someone they know in the organization has to vouch for you to set up a tab, but otherwise, that's usually the quickest route if you're in a hurry."  
Gyris nodded. "What suppliers are these?"  
"There's a lot," Kirah said. "You'll have to figure it out as you go. Just ask around."  
He didn't seem particularly pleased, but certainly not upset. She continued on with the tour. "That corner over there is where Chalmer sets up the food at night. He's usually there during the night hours, if you want to stop over. Most get food from him and then go out drinking."  
He nodded to himself. She glanced around the warehouse. "There are doors on each wall." She pointed them out. "Make sure you get the password before leaving. It changes once in awhile. What else?"  
She glanced toward the back. "Sleeping quarters," she said, walking toward the back. "Lets see. After two years of loyal service, you get to get a place outside of here, if you want, so there are open spots here. No one stays here voluntarily."  
His head turned to look at her. "Dangerous?"  
"Not exactly," she said, opening the door to the rear corridors and entering. "More like disgusting." The glowpanels cast a buttery, flickering light over the dirty tile. There were drains in the center every few meters. "Nice, huh?"  
"Very," Gyris said. There was no hint of distaste in his tone or his face. Maybe he was just a good actor.  
"This place is gross," she said, grimacing. She looked around, scrutinizing the doors. Free rooms had yellow sticky-papers stuck to them. She glanced around, considering where best to put him. Someplace she could keep an eye on him. She selected a room that put her room between him and the exit. "Here," she said, pulling the paper off and wadding it into a ball. She cued open the door.  
Gyris followed her in, taking in the small room with his red eyes. Kirah studied it herself. It was similar to her own in design. A small square room with a ferracrete floor and walls that were formerly white but had been dulled to a dirty yellow. Luckily for Gyris, there were no large stains on any of the walls, nor the floor. The glowpanels all worked, she noted with satisfaction.  
The bed, really a stolen Imperial-issue cot, had no mattress, just flat metal and two X-legs. It took up almost half the room. A small wooden bureau perched in the corner, dusty and bolted to the wall.  
"Do I know how to pick 'em or what?" she asked. "Feel free to check the other rooms if you want, but this is probably the best you're going to find."  
"I'll take your word for it," he said. He hesitated, then said, "I don't know if I dare ask about refreshers."  
Kirah laughed, and he cracked a smile. "You'll wish you hadn't," she warned. "But I'll show you anyway." She led him down the hall to the end, and opened the door. Inside, a stuffy and rather repulsive odor wafted out. She peered in involuntarily; luckily, no one was in there. On the right, there were ten urinals in a row. That was followed by five stalls with rickety walls and, in some cases, no door. On the left was a large shower area, where sprays of water could be shot from spigots on the wall. Only rarely did someone dare clean it , and therefore, there was slime growing in the shower, mold creeping over the walls.  
"Pleasant place," Gyris said, ducking out much more quickly than he had entered. Kirah followed, glad when the door shut.  
"There's another one at the end of the other hall," she said, gesturing. "It's actually a little worse."  
He smiled unenthusiastically. "Hard to imagine."  
"That, Guy, is why you make friends with people who have refreshers of their own. And there's always restrooms in places like the drug store that will let you use it if you buy something. Free tip. Any other questions?"  
"Where do I get a cot pad?"  
She laughed again. "Talk to Supply," she said. "Dru's got all sorts of good stuff to pretty up your joint. Just a warning, though. He'll give you the pad and maybe even a blanket if you ask real nice, but any of your 'luxury' items you have to pay for. Meaning, you know, soap, towels, toothbrush, whatever. If you go for the whole 'hygiene' thing."  
Gyris nodded. "Well, I'm all set," he said. "When is Turk coming?"  
She shrugged. "You were there, so your guess is as good as mine. By sundown, I imagine, at least." She gave him a look. "So unless you've got some problem, you're all by your lonesome, then." She started to walk away. She wanted to see exactly what he would do on his own.  
"Hold up a moment," Gyris said.  
She turned around. "What?"  
"Seeing as how you're my competition," he said, "I feel it necessary to challenge you to a fight."  
Kirah raised an eyebrow. "You want to spar?" she asked.  
"Yes, actually," he said.  
She looked him over again. Finally, she said, "Unarmed."  
"Agreed," he said. "I'm sure you'd get in at least one good offensive, and I have no desire to put up with an injury right now."  
She gave him a crooked smile. "And I don't want Turk to give the training fee to someone else because I almost killed you," she replied. "All right, then. Let's do it." 


	3. 3

A/N: I can update as often as people want. I just didn't want to waste the effort if no one was going to read it. As long as that's not the case. . . And as for Stargazer, I honestly don't know. I got a little bored with it, and I've been busy, so we'll just have to see.  
  
Three  
  
"So your training fee," Gyris said as they walked. "An additional ten percent?"  
  
Kirah nodded. "Mm-hmm."  
  
"Making you salary tonight. . . what?"  
  
She shrugged. "Ten percent more than last night's and much less than I deserve."  
  
"You didn't seem pleased when you heard what he was paying me," he said, probing.  
  
Kirah glanced at him and said crossly, "I think it's outrageous to offer you that much of a starting wage when you haven't even proven yourself. I started at five."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"Now is none of your business," she replied tartly.  
  
"You know mine," he said. "It's only fair." But he was teasing her now, she recognized.  
  
She glanced at him, then shrugged. "It's more than yours, at least. You really want to know, maybe Turk will tell you." She got to the door. "You coming?"  
  
They stood across from each other in the warehouse, empty except for Regs and Dru. Kirah fell into a fighting stance and waited for him to begin. Gyris, however, did the same and neither moved.  
  
"You're the one that wanted to fight. If that's the best you can do, then I have to say, I'm disappointed—"  
  
He attacked before she could finish her sentence. It didn't take her by surprise. She blocked his kick and ducked a punch before lashing out at his knee. He sidestepped smoothly.  
  
Kirah blocked several more offensive moves by her opponent before managing one of her own in. She got in a hard blow by her boot to his knee. He wobbled a second, then recovered before she could pursue her advantage.  
  
She ducked another rapid attack before kicking him in the chest. The metal-lined heel of her boot caught him in the solar plexus. He let out a whoosh of breath, but he still managed to grab onto her ankle.  
  
Not giving him the opportunity to twist or break her ankle, she twisted and used the grip as the fulcrum, swinging her other leg around in an arc to connect with his chin. He dropped her.  
  
Kirah, panting, landed and backpedaled away from him in the general direction of Dru, who didn't seem to be paying them any attention. "Your lip's bleeding," she informed him, rather pleased with herself.  
  
He touched the corner of his lower lip, then looked at the red blood on his finger. "So it is," he said without concern. "You're good."  
  
"So are you," she granted. "Now either quit while most of your blood is still on the inside where it belongs or let's go. You've had enough recovery time."  
  
"Very well," he said, coming forward again. He started to lash out with his right hand, but it turned into a feint, which turned into a kick. She knew she wasn't strong enough to hold his leg like he did to her. She jumped back, slicing out with her left leg to catch his ankle as he was recovering. He jumped, one-footed, and she ducked around behind him, slamming her elbow into the base of his neck.  
  
He stumbled forward. She went to pursue the attack when he suddenly whirled. He had faked! She caught a blow the side of her head, stumbling away herself. The impact was hard enough to send the world spinning, her ears ringing.  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked, pausing and watching her calmly.  
  
She shook the fuzziness out of her vision to see the Chiss man several meters away. "Fine," she grunted, annoyed. "Just can't believe I bought that."  
  
He smiled faintly. "Have you had enough? If not, recovery time is over."  
  
She flipped him an obscene gesture. "Don't be an ass," she said, the world steadying again. "Bring it on."  
  
He didn't move, and she growled under her breath. He had turned the tables on her. Now it was she that had to provoke the fight, to save her honor. "Bastard," she added for good measure before moving forward.  
  
"No need for nasty names now," he said, an almost teasing tone to his voice. Mocking her? She refused to becoming irritated. He was just trying to unbalance her.   
  
But maybe he expected her to do something rash. Well, she'd oblige. She bent slightly, rushing him, her shoulder out to absorb the impact. As expected, he neatly sidestepped, perhaps expecting her to go too far. She straightened immediately, bringing her foot up and pushing up off one of Dru's nearby crates. As she had counted on, it was heavy and didn't move under her weight. It gave her enough height to jump on her opponant's back.  
  
She wrapped her legs against his waist, holding on tightly as she hooked her left elbow under his chin, holding tightly against this neck, cutting off his air and blood flow to the head.  
  
He lurched backward, slamming her against the crate hard enough to rattle her teeth. Her breath was knocked out of her, but she held on. "A few more seconds of this," she whispered in his ear, "and you're unconscious." She let go and jumped down.  
  
The Chiss gasped for air. "A minute of that will give you a brain hemorrhage," she added conversationally. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Sith, Kaye!" an irritated voice barked out. "I toldja to show him around, not kill him!" Turk stormed toward them before scowling at Gyris. "So she beat you too, now? I thoughtcha said ya were good."  
  
To her amazement, Gyris looked rather embarrassed. Kirah quickly jumped in. "No, Turk, it's not like that. It was a good fight. He would have had me earlier, but he let me recover so we could keep going."  
  
Turk looked slightly comforted. Muttering under his breath, he finally got out, "Why're ya defending him, Kaye?"  
  
Startled, Kirah had to wonder the same thing herself. She shrugged. "It's just true," she said. "He's good."  
  
"Yeah, an' Kaye always gotta tell the truth," Turk grunted. "Fine. You hurt him? He's bleeding, fer Sith sake—"  
  
"Give me a break," Kirah said, rolling her eyes. "It's a shastin scratch, not a missing limb."  
  
Turk threw up his arms. "Blazes. Stang. Fine. I swear, 'chilla, if either of ya blow it, you'll both get a pay dock."  
  
Her eyes flashed. "When was the last time I blew anything, Turk? Never, and you know it. You'll get your creds. So just chill yourself and give us our assignment."  
  
Turk scowled. "You gotta destroy the Dover Medical Center t'night."  
  
Kirah raised an eyebrow. "That's not much notice."  
  
"That's why it's worth so much," he retorted. "You're supposta make it look like an Eosini job, too."  
  
"Easy enough," Kirah said. "We've got spare uniforms from that raid we did, right?" The Eosini was a pirate gang operating in the city. They didn't really do much for gain, they just liked to cause trouble.  
  
Turk shrugged. "Probably. Ask Dru."  
  
"Do we know who it's for?"  
  
"Middleman only," Turk said. "No other details. Get to it."  
  
Kirah nodded. "Come on, Guy, let's get moving." 


	4. 4

A/N: I am having such a bad day...i had a two and a half hour history class tonight, i got a parking ticket, and I'm being harassed by some telemarketer guy that wants to clean my carpets. plus, I have to give a speech in the morning. sigh. anyway. . . kimara, it's not a stupid question. i haven't said just who he is yet, or what he does. As for character backgrounds, if you read long enough, you'll get plenty of it, I guarantee. Kirah's family, Thrawn's family, some other characters that haven't been mentioned yet. . . it's a long story. if that bothers anyone, i'll warn you now-- it's long.  
  
Four  
  
Dru watched them coming, his expression surly. Kirah paused in front of him and said, "Hi, Dru."  
  
He grunted and she said, "Terribly sorry to disturb you, dear, but we've got work to do. We need two Eosini uniforms that'll fit and are still in decent shape. Then we'll need a dozen high-power TD's. You wait for it, Gyris, I'll be right back."  
  
With that, she hurried away toward her own room. When she was sure the door was shut and Gyris couldn't see which door she went through, she headed to her own room and opened the door with the thumb-scan pad next to the doorframe. Inside, she grabbed her personal supply pack and returned.  
  
Gyris was waiting, holding the uniforms and a sack of detonators. She hefted her bag on her shoulder and said, "Party time." As they walked out, Kirah said, "No offence, Gyris, but I think we'll be taking my speeder today."  
  
He smiled slightly. "I have no objections, boss."  
  
Kirah didn't like how he sounded amused at calling her that. Leading him to her speeder, she said, "Let's get one thing straight. You'll do what I say tonight or you'll be out of here faster than you got in. Is that clear to you?"  
  
"Clear as transparasteel," he said. "You're the boss."  
  
She didn't ease up. Pausing at her silver, older-model Starfire, she leaned against the door and said, "Everyone around here has a partner, Gyris. Sometimes a small gang."  
  
"Except for you, I take it," Gyris said, standing in front of her, his gaze intense.  
  
"Exactly," she said. "And do you have any idea why?"  
  
"Because you're so good you don't need one?" he asked dryly. "Nor do you want to share with one."  
  
She shrugged. "That's why I like it. But Turk agrees because I don't really have a good track record working with them."  
  
"Oh?" he asked. "How so?"  
  
She smiled tightly. "They keep winding up dead. I have the bad luck of being stuck with people that are good. They seem to want to prove something, and I keep having to blast them." She gave him a hard look. "I hope you're not of the mistaken impression that I won't blast you if it becomes necessary. Screw what Turk wants."  
  
"I never doubted it," he replied without concern. "And I'm sure you could, also, if I didn't blast you first. You don't have to worry. I'm not interested in taking your place on the first night. I agreed to be your partner, and that means we're working together, not against one another."  
  
Slowly, she nodded. "Good," she said, climbing into the driver's seat.   
  
"This is a nice speeder," he said. "And not just for Jada."  
  
"Tell me about it," Kirah said. "That's genuine leather you're sitting on there."  
  
He shut the door as she started it up. "How do you keep it from being stolen?" he asked.  
  
She burst out laughing as she pulled away from the warehouse and couldn't stop. Finally, Gyris said, "What's so funny?"  
  
She managed to speak. "Babe, this speeder IS stolen. If someone takes it, then I just take another one."  
  
"And what if your getaway depends on having a speeder available, only it's not there when you go for it?"  
  
"Then you wing it," she replied. "I disguise it, hide it, whatever, unless it's an emergency. What if your speeder doesn't start when you need to make a getaway?"  
  
He shrugged but didn't answer. Kirah reached for the stereo and music came on. Satisfied with the song, she began driving.  
  
"If you don't mind me asking," he said over the music, "just where are we going?"  
  
"Kritinton Corporation, Salzantore office," she said.  
  
He raised a blue-black eyebrow and said, "Kritinton Corporation? What type of company is that?"  
  
"Fish and sea food," she said. "Catch it in the ocean, can 'em in Yobacci, hawk it to the rich folks in the more respectable cities."  
  
"Interesting place for an office, Salzantore," Gyris said. "I assume they do more than process papers here?"  
  
"If you could prove they have anything to do with any illegal activities, half the law enforcement in the system would give you their dominant limb to get it."  
  
"But unofficially. . . ."  
  
"Unofficially, you can form your own opinions," she said. "I have a friend I want to visit."  
  
He glanced down at his clothing and said, "What sort of place is it? Should we change?"  
  
"What for?" she asked, shooting him a look. "They know I drop in once in awhile. The guards won't care."  
  
"I merely thought you might not want to attract undue attention to yourself," he said.  
  
She shrugged. "I don't think it'll be too much of a problem," she said.  
  
He fell silent, leaving Kirah to driving and her thoughts. *This man* she thought, resisting the urge to shake her head. There was something off about him. He acted less like a merc than a. . . and that was where she lost it. She couldn't decide what he did act like. But she was becoming wary about giving him too much information. Behind his mild tone and expression, she could sense a shrewd, calculating mind. She knew she didn't want to meet up with him when he was angry. She hadn't yet seen him at his best— or worst, she thought grimly, might be more accurate.  
  
She glanced over again to see him watching her. He met her eyes without a hint of anything in his faintly glowing eyes. Maybe he was a mind-reader, she thought sourly.   
  
But he broke the gaze first and said, "Would you mind telling me about the Dover Medical Center?"  
  
"What do you want to know?" she asked.  
  
"Why, for one," he said.  
  
Kirah snorted. "When has why ever mattered?" she asked.   
  
"Well," he said, unconcerned by her skepticism, "if the owner wants it gone for insurance, then we don't have to worry about much trouble. But if it's his competition, and the owner suspects, we could have difficulties."  
  
"Don't you worry your pretty little head over that," she told him. "Let me do the Intel, okay, partner?" She wondered if this would be a hard enough push to blow his fuse. He didn't seem the type to trust another to do the job research. But that was the idea of this little test. Would he follow her orders, or would he fight her?   
  
Plus, she thought to herself. She didn't like partners, and she didn't feel like explaining herself to the merc beside her. It made her impatient, and she didn't like to be impatient.  
  
He frowned slightly, but that was it. "All right," he said slowly, dragging each syllable out. "Then tell me what you know about it."  
  
Kirah drummed her fingers on the wheel. "I know it's on the west side," she said.   
  
When she didn't go on, he shot her a look and said, "That's it?"  
  
"I don't spend much time there," she replied cooly. "I'm sorry."  
  
He sighed inaudibly, and Kirah suspected what he had to be thinking. He didn't trust her skills yet to start with, and now he was losing whatever confidence he had in her. Another reason to hate partners. They made it much harder to wing it.  
  
"Look," she said impatiently. "This is how I do things—"  
  
"Charging in blindly only hours before a deadline, no plans and zero information, is a good way to be killed, not make a profit," he interrupted, looking rather aggravated.  
  
"Then get out," she said, stopping the speeder in the middle of the driving zone and killing the repulsors. "If you're so fragging upset about my technique— a technique that had not killed me and actually does make me quite a bit of money— then get out of my speeder. Ten percent one way or another doesn't mean anything to me. Turk can get you a different partner—"  
  
"Kaye," he interrupted sharply. "Calm down. Do it your way."  
  
She slammed the lever for the repulsors, and roared back down the road. "Don't you tell me how to do things," she said coldly. "I don't know who you think you are, but you don't know anything about me and the best way for me to do things."  
  
"I apologize," he said, his calm voice void of all emotion. "I admit I am more comfortable doing things my way. I'm not completely comfortable improvising from the start for a job worth forty-two grand." He shrugged. "But you are in charge, so it's not my problem, is it."  
  
"No," she said, refusing to let him gloss over her irritation.   
  
He smiled slightly. "That's some temper you have there, Kaye."  
  
Kirah finally chuckled. "All right, all right," she said. "I'll drop it."  
  
"And mood swings, too," he said. "You just bounce right back, don't you."  
  
She rolled her eyes at him. "Call it flexibility. Adaptability. Whatever it is, that's me."  
  
"Oh, I don't know," he said. "Plenty of teenagers have mood swings."  
  
She scowled at him. "Nerf herder."  
  
He arched an eyebrow teasingly. "Is that the best you can do?"  
  
"I'd call you a lunkee-swiving son of a shiema, but there's no need to insult your mother, since I've never met her," Kirah informed him.  
  
"I appreciate the sentiment," he said.   
  
She smiled crookedly. "I sincerely hope I don't have to shoot you," she said.  
  
He cocked his eyebrow. "Oh? Why is that? Not that I'm complaining."  
  
"Because," she said. "As long as you're not pissing me off, at least you amuse me."  
  
"I amuse you," he said. "That's one I haven't gotten before."  
  
Kirah laughed. "I'm easily amused."  
  
"Ah," he said. "Interesting. Most people find me, if not frightening, at least a little intimidating."  
  
Still laughing, she shook her head. "That's 'cause you look like an escapee from a military psychiatric ward or something, Guy. And by the looks of it, you could arm wrestle a Troman and win."  
  
"Of course I can," he said, flexing his biceps. "You don't find that intimidating?"  
  
"Let's see," she said, reaching over with one hand and squeezing his upper arm. She could barely get halfway around, but it was enough to tell his muscles were hard as duracrete. "Very impressive," she said, reaching back to the wheel. "No wonder I almost got a concussion."  
  
"I apologize for that," he said.  
  
She laughed. "Like I said. My mistake. That'll teach me to underestimate you."  
  
"But you're not intimidated," he sighed. "You've ruined my perfect record, Kaye."  
  
"For that I apologize most heartily," she snorted. "Maybe you should try acting scary if you want people to think it."  
  
"So far I've found that the large majority of people assume things about me without ever actually speaking to me. Even mercenaries aren't often eager to so much as disrupt me."  
  
"Well ain't that lucky," Kirah said. "Some of us have to kick major ass for some peace, and even then it's an iffy proposition. But I guess at least it's exciting that way. What fun is it if everyone was to afraid to so much as look at you?"  
  
"You learn to deal with it," he said, looking at her intently now, sounding distracted.  
  
Uncomfortable at the close scrutiny, she said, "You speak from experience, then."  
  
"That's certain," he said, frowning slightly. "Much of my life, in fact. May I ask what planet you come from?"  
  
Kirah scowled. "You may not," she snapped. "I don't give out personal information to anybody, Gyris, and that includes you. If it's not in the bio, then you're out of luck." And she knew it wasn't in the bio. No, Kerri Ford's file named Jada as her current residence, previous unknown.  
  
He looked taken aback. "I didn't mean to pry," he said, holding his hands up as if to ward off her anger. "Something you said stuck me as odd."  
  
"Odd?" she asked warily. "Odd how?"  
  
"Odd," he repeated. Then he shook his head, as much for his benefit as for hers. "Never mind," he said.   
  
Kirah wanted to pursue it, worried that she might have tipped him off, but she didn't want to make him suspicious. So she shrugged and said, "Whatever."  
  
There was a long silence before Gyris said, "To change the subject slightly, do you have an objection to talking about part of my personal information?"  
  
"Free of charge?" she asked. "I wouldn't miss it. Why, though?" The last had a suspicious tone.  
  
He shrugged. "Curiosity on my part, mostly. Do you know of any other Chiss?"  
  
Kirah frowned slightly at the windshield. "Any what?" she asked, furrowing her brow slightly. Motion in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She glanced over and saw Gyris gesture at himself. "Oh," she said, letting realization appear on her features. "You're a Chiss."   
  
She turned into a new road, entering the decrepit downtown area. "Huh," she said, sounding thoughtful. "I'm not sure. I've been around, so I've probably seem some around, but. . . ." She shook her head. "I can't think of any," she added apologetically.  
  
"Have you ever been in the Unknown Regions?" he asked.  
  
She glanced over, satisfied with the slightly puzzled look she wore. "I've been near it," she said slowly. "A place called Galeara was big business last year, because they had some sort of war going on between the natives and some human colonists. That was only about a dozen or so lightyears from the border, I think. Someplace called Istav, that was pretty nice. And some dustbowl of a farm colony called. . . Grellan, I think it was. I had a meeting there awhile back. That was just at the border. Why?"  
  
"That's pretty far out for Chiss," he said. "We come from that region, and rarely leave it."  
  
"Okay," Kirah said slowly, a sinking feeling in her stomach. So he wanted to see if she was from that area. Was he suspicious? "So why'd you ask?"  
  
"I was just wondering if I was the first," he said.  
  
"Damn close," she said. "Probably the second. I've got one. Just remembered one." She sounded proud of herself.  
  
He shot her a startled look. "No kidding? Who?"  
  
"Grand Admiral Thrawn," she said.  
  
Her temporary partner turned to stare at her. "Grand Admiral Thrawn," he repeated. "He's not Jadan. . . ."  
  
"No, not the Jadan force," Kirah said, laughing. "No, Sith, he's better than that, I think. He's in the Empire."  
  
"The human Empire?" He frowned. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Sure," she said, shrugging. "Looks just like you, in fact. Same kind of skin and hair, a little shorter hair, though. And eyes just like yours. Glowing like that."  
  
Now he looked suspicious of her. "How could you possibly know what an Imperial Grand Admiral's eyes looked like?" he demanded. "Have you met him?"  
  
"I make a point to distance myself from any Imperial," Kirah replied tartly. "Especially Grand Admirals. Lets just say you don't have to meet a man to get a good look at him."  
  
"That sounds like an interesting story," he said. "You're making me curious. But I won't ask."  
  
"Good," she said. Then she smiled. She'd bet a million credits that he had known perfectly well that Grand Admiral Thrawn worked for the Empire long before she'd said anything. "I'll tell you what. I'll tell you the story if you tell me what odd thing I said. It's making me very self-conscious."  
  
He smiled slightly, then said, "Deal. You first."  
  
She considered briefly, then decided on a true story, if not the entirety of it. Those were always more convincing. "Okay," she said. "Well, this was a while ago. I was doing a job at a spaceport, I don't even remember where, when three lambda shuttles came down. There had to be fifty stormies— stormtroopers, you know what those are?"  
  
Gyris snorted. "I don't live in a cave, you know, Kaye."   
  
"All right," she said. "There were all those stormies standing at attention and all that good stuff. My partner nearly had a heart attack; he's that afraid of Imps. He took off. I decided to wait it out, and besides, I was kind of curious who the important guy is. So I stayed."  
  
She took another turn before continuing. "I went up to an upper level and watched with my binocs. I remember he didn't come out of the middle shuttle like I expected. Just some dumb lower officers and more stormies. He was in one of the side ones, wearing an all-white uniform with a whole hell of a lot of little insignia thingies. I had never seen a uniform like that before. That's what made me think he was really important. But it was strange. For awhile, I thought my binocs were fritzing out on me, but they weren't. He had definitely blue skin and red eyes. He must be really good for the Empire to hire a non-human."  
  
"What did you do after that?" he asked.  
  
"Not much," she said. "They cleared out pretty fast and I must have finished whatever I was there to do. Later, someone told me who it was."  
  
"Ah," Gyris said. "What world was that on, if it wasn't on Jada?"  
  
She shrugged. "It was so long ago, I don't even remember. Honest." And she really didn't, though she suspected it was in the Rallei cluster because she recalled several of the Rallei natives in the spaceport.  
  
He accepted that and said, "Interesting."  
  
"So what's so odd about what I said? And what is it that I said, anyway?"  
  
"You said something along the lines of 'at least it's exciting'," he said. "I don't know exactly why that caught my attention. It gave me the strongest feeling of deja vu, though I suppose, since we've apparently never met before, that it was my imagination."  
  
"Oh," Kirah said. A bit of unease settled in her stomach. It WAS something that she had said, more than once. In fact, she'd been saying it for years, before she had even been conscripted and sent to the Academy. Maybe she did know this guy. She turned onto the final street before arriving, taking a sharp corner.   
  
Gyris had to grab the dashboard to keep from hitting his window. "Sith," he said. "Who are we racing?"  
  
She chuckled. He cast her a sour look and said, "That's the third time you've nearly sent me through the window."  
  
"You're counting?"  
  
"Who in Brita's name taught you to drive a speeder?"  
  
"I left home before I could get a permit," she admitted.  
  
"I can tell," he said, still sounding surly.  
  
She reached over and patted his shoulder, also firmly sculpted. "Hang in there," she said. Then she winked at him. "You really do have nice arms, you know that?"  
  
He grunted but didn't answer. Kirah slowed almost to a standstill as she turned into the parking lot of the Kritinton Corporation. "That better?" she asked.  
  
"Sarcasm aside, yes," he replied as she pulled into a stall and shut the power down. They walked toward the tall building, the words Kritinton Corp near the top and on a sign near the entrance. It looked like an amazingly respectable office building, she thought, walking in through the automatic glass doors.   
  
Gyris followed into the lobby. There was a live receptionist behind the desk and several people in business suits in the lobby. Kirah took a step toward the turbolift, then changed her mind and turned to Gyris. "Stay here," she said. "My friend is sensitive."  
  
He frowned just slightly. "What am I supposed to do, then?" he protested.  
  
"I don't know," she said, impatient and uninterested. "Rob the vault. I'll probably be about ten minutes."  
  
So she left him there, heading up in the turbolift to floor 32. The corner office had a plaque engraved with the words Viktor T. Heimin. She walked over and buzzed the intercom. A moment later, a familiar voice said, "If this is Taler, I'm not in."  
  
Kirah smiled to herself. Havik Fletch, her sole friend since the Imperial Academy on Aggadawai, was the only person she knew who was less self-conscious than herself. "It's me, buddy old chum," she said, borrowing one of his phrases.  
  
The door flashed open and Kirah walked in. "Hello, Vik," she said.  
  
Sitting behind a desk, working at three computers at once and still managing to have his boots up on the desk, was Fletch. He was a thin man, a good three centimeters shorter than her. He had dyed his formerly sandy-brown hair so that it was now peppered silver and black, which, along with a goatee on his chin, made him appear closer to thirty than his actual twenty-two. He was also the only person Kirah knew personally with a bigger bounty on his head than her. He was worth one hundred thousand creds to the Emperor. Fletch was the best slicer Kirah had ever heard of— he had copied a great deal of data from the Imperial Special Files, the most restricted files in the galaxy, though he had long since abandoned it. She had only stolen rebels out from under Vader's oxygen filter, getting a thirty thousand credit bounty, mostly because of the Dark Lord's injured pride and her association with Fletch.  
  
The other jumped up and said, "Kaye! Dude, I'm glad you're here. What's the deal with that Gyris guy? Rumor has it he's gonna be taking you on?"  
  
Kirah groaned, rolling her eyes and dropping onto a chair across from his desk and putting her own feet up. "Yeah, well, I can take him."  
  
"Good," Fletch said. "You sure?"  
  
"Hell, I already have," Kirah replied. "He's down in the lobby."  
  
The slicer stared at her in disbelief. "Are you— you're insane," he declared.   
  
"He's my partner," she said wryly. "Turk snapped him up this morning. I'm taking him on a training run tonight. It's got us sixty percent of forty two, so don't complain."  
  
Fletch's eyes lit. "Sorry about the insane thing," he said. "But are you sure you can take him? His record's pretty. . .uh, good. Or so I hear."  
  
"So's mine," Kirah counted. "He's good, yes. But I'm better. We sparred today at HQ— had him in my chin-lock."  
  
Fletch collapsed into his seat, leaning back. "On his back? That lock?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Kick him in the gut while you're up there, too? That's a killer. Makes my eyes water to watch."  
  
"No, I went easy on him," Kirah said. "Turk said not to kill him."  
  
"Aw," Fletch said. "That means you didn't bust his balls or gorge his eyes or any of your really fad moves?"  
  
"Sorry," she said.  
  
He shrugged. "Just as well I missed it, I guess. Wha'd'ya need to know today, Kaye-ty waity? Or is it a social call?"  
  
"Well, first I need you to stop calling me that," she said. "And second, I'm supposed to blow up the Dover Medical Center tonight."  
  
He began working the nearest terminal as she finished. Soon, he said, "I've got nothing. Nothing in their records that suggest they know about it, no rumors, nothing about who's behind it. Sorry."  
  
"No biggie," she said. "Didn't really think you would find much. You'll run security for us, then?"  
  
"Don't I always?" he countered. "Just let me know where and when."  
  
"Which reminds me," Kirah said. "I need to know how to get to the damn place. It's on the west side, right?"  
  
He tapped another key and said, "Uh-huh. Just follow 12 west until you hit exit 60-a. You'll come out over Witzer. It looks like it's two blocks in, on the right. Big place."  
  
"Great," Kirah said. "Talk to you later. Thanks."  
  
He waved her out.  
  
Back downstairs, the lobby was empty now. Gyris, his thumbs tucked in the waist of his fatigues, was waiting for her. She left the elevator and said, "See you scared everyone away again."  
  
He smiled slightly and said, "They didn't need much convincing to leave."  
  
They walked out of the building and back to the speeder. Kirah climbed into her speeder and said, "What do you feel about Ithorians?"  
  
He glanced over as he sat down. "Ithorians? I can honestly say I have no strong emotions about them one way or another. Why?"  
  
"Because I'm starving to death and I feel like some Ithorian food," she said. "There's a good one about half an hour away in Listîne."  
  
"That's a bit out of our way, isn't it?" he asked. "Is there business to take care of in Listîne?"  
  
"Would it make you feel better if there was?" she asked.  
  
He shook his head. "How do you survive, Kaye?" he asked. "We're never going to have time for surveillance, or any on-site observations—"  
  
"That's the idea," she replied through clenched teeth. "I'm in no mood to tip anyone off. We don't know who or why, and you're right that it would be nice to, so we don't know if they're watching, too. We're staying as far away from the target as we can until it's time for action."  
  
"Sith," he said. "So that's the sum of your 'Intelligence' work? Seven minutes of questioning? How is it you intend to get into the clinic if you don't know the layout or the location of security cams? Ten minutes ago, all you knew was that it was 'probably on the west side'."  
  
"I told you already," she said with strained patience. "Leave it to me. You're just along for the ride. Remember that."  
  
He sighed. "Ithorian food is fine."  
  
"You sure?" she asked. "They have a Lig's Diner and a Cortell Dimage, too."  
  
"Yes, wouldn't that be interesting," Gyris said dryly. "Imagine the clientele of Cortell Dimage seeing us walk in. The manager would have law enforcement there within two minutes."  
  
Kirah laughed. "Yes, you're probably right. Ithorian it is, then."  
  
The long drive passed mostly in silence. Kirah spent the entire trip trying to decide what, exactly, she thought about Gyris, but in the end, she had the same conclusion had already had: he was an enigma.   
  
Gyris spent the time staring out the window. She couldn't even speculate on what he was thinking of.  
  
At the restaurant, the hammerhead aliens didn't seem to notice their strange clothing. The humanoid population was very cautious to avoid eye contact.   
  
Sitting in a booth in back, Kirah examined the ordering screen, settling on roasted thi'or and fresh timon stalks, a white wine to drink. She didn't see what Gyris ordered, nor did she care much.   
  
When they were both done ordering, he said quietly, under the background noise, "Would you like to see something interesting, Kaye?"  
  
"You know how I feel about being bored," she replied. "Sure. What?"  
  
He pulled a folded envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to her. She picked it up; it felt like it contained money. She opened it and saw a printout of a flatscreen picture, along with a thick stack of paper bills, easily ten thousand credits. She raised an eyebrow and looked up at him, trying valiantly not to burst out into laughter. It showed a picture of Gizer Hort, the Jadan minister of state, the leader of the Jadan government, through a window, wearing nothing but his underwear, carrying a dewback whip.  
  
"This is what you consider interesting?" she said, sounding choked, holding back a guffaw. She returned the picture to the envelope and passed it back to him, saying, "Where'd that stuff come from?"  
  
He returned the envelope to his pants pocket, saying, "Vault three, I believe. It seems I've stumbled upon a blackmail scheme."  
  
"Vault thr— you actually robbed the vault?" she asked, unable to contain laughter now. "Sith, Guy. You actually listened to me?"  
  
He chuckled. "I have no desire to be blasted."  
  
The food came soon. Finally, Gyris said, "Is there anything else to do, or are we just killing time now?"  
  
"We're set," she said, patting her bag. Inside it, along with her regular supplies, now were the detonators and the uniforms. "Take your time."  
  
When they were done, Gyris pulled out his money again and said, "Allow me."  
  
"If you insist," she replied, standing.   
  
At that moment, a comm trill made them both reach to their belts. It turned out it was Gyris's. He clicked it on and said, "Yes?"   
  
Kirah sat back down in the booth, not intending to give the Chiss any privacy. He didn't seem to care. An indecipherable noise came from the comm, and he said, "Actually, I have company at the moment." There was a response on the other end, then he said, "Yes. . . possibly. The third." A briefer pause and, with a tone of finality, "Yes. Out." He turned the comm off with a flick of the thumb.  
  
His eyes had never left her face. "A friend," he said mildly.  
  
"Lovely," Kirah replied.   
  
He returned the comm to its place and said, "There's nothing you want me to do until tonight, I take it?"  
  
"Not really," she admitted, watching him closely. "Why?"  
  
"I'd like to go deal with some business for a few hours," he replied. "I'll be back before sundown."  
  
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What sort of business?"   
  
"Personal business," he replied on the short side.  
  
She shrugged, not very pleased. "Do what you want," she said. "Meet me in the Square in Salzantore at eight sharp or I'm leaving without you."  
  
"Do you have a freq I can reach you at if necessary?" he asked.  
  
Kirah shook her head. "No," she said flatly. "If you have trouble, call HQ. Maybe they'll be nice today. If you're going to be late, don't bother to show. And if you're not with me, stay away from the DMC. I'll know if you go there."  
  
"I have no interest in going there," he assured her, somewhat sourly. "Eight, then." He stood up and walked away. 


	5. 5

A/N: I got a lot of questions about blowing up that med center, so for anyone that was still wondering, let me explain. The doctor/owner guy sells drugs (spice, whatever) there. He ended up making one of his customers (those pirate guys) mad and so they hired the mercs to burn the place down. But the pirates never told them why he wanted them to do it, so I never explained it in the story. My bad. Sorry. I hope that answers your questions... but if not, you know how to reach me. lol.  
  
FIVE  
  
Kirah watched Gyris walk away, then got out her own comm and said, "Vik."  
The comm sent out its signal, and soon, Fletch's voice said, "Hey. Problem?"  
"Monitor my new friend," she said. "He's heading out of Till'or Cafe in Listine."  
"One sec," he replied. A moment later, he said, "I'm sending you a feed. . . .I'll follow him, 'kay, Kaye? Bye."  
Kirah removed her compact datapad from a pocket. It was heavier than an average datapad, owing to the sending/receiving module attached to its processor. She flipped it on and plugged her comm into the receiver, watching the signal filter in. Soon, the window appeared in flat-screen. She stuffed a datacard into the slot and hit the record button.  
Fletch had a view from a police hover-droid overhead. She could see the blue-black head as he walked down the street. She climbed up, exiting the cafe and drifting toward her speeder. The scene on the datapad flipped to a different source, a store holocam, as he entered a clothing store.  
She got in her speeder and drove quickly out of town. Parking on the side of a deserted road between Listine and Salzantore, she settled in to watch. He was exiting now, dressed in what appeared to be a fairly expensive slate-gray suit, a tie around his neck, a gold watch on his wrist, clone-leather shoes, and a briefcase in his hand, probably containing his merc clothes. Her curiosity flared— what was he doing?  
He was walking down the street, now blending in much better with the businessmen getting back from lunch-hour. No one was inching away from him, and she almost lost him a couple times.  
And then, as the view changed again, this time to the Yannarie Floral Shop. He stopped by a bench outside, watching the road, standing in the very left of her screen. She was looking down at his left side. He lifted his wrist, looking at his chrono, then glanced to the street.  
A long, white limo with dark-tinted windows pulled up to the curb and settled to the pavement. Gyris made his way across the walkway as the driver circled the stretched speeder. It was a woman dressed in a crisp, black chauffeur uniform, a black cap tucked down on her blond head, a long, neat braid falling halfway down her back.  
"Get it, Fletch," she murmured urgently, knowing he would without her reminder. She made a note of the registration ID plates on the back, though. RTK221.  
The young woman, probably only a few years older than Kirah, opened the door for Gyris, bowing respectfully. "Move to sats," she said impatiently. "Hurry, hurry. . . ."  
It did. The screen changed from a view of the limo to a map of the city, a green blip representing the limousine's location. Then, without warning, it shrunk to a half-screen and text began scrolling across the white panel beneath it. She read it with interest. It was the chauffeur's personal record. Her name was, apparently, Tani D'Veers. Twenty-six, fully licensed driver, a rather boring bio, actually.  
So he hired a limo driver, she thought, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Interesting. Maybe he knew her. Could she be the one he had spoken to on the comm?  
New text kept coming. "Ran a check on the limo's registration," he wrote. "Owned by Southside Limo Services. Mostly does port shuttling for commercial flight passengers."  
Kirah leaned back, watching the blip drifting north at city speeds. It was strange all right. It appeared they were trying to avoid pursuit because they looped around several different blocks before heading south- east toward the Jilardi Mountains.  
It finally stopped on the far west side and the picture snapped to a live picture feed again. Another police hover unit, it looked like. They were in the parking ramp of a building. It looked like another office building, she thought.  
As if reading her mind, another phrase popped onto her screen. Talbot & Sons Manufacturing. She shrunk the text box to display only one line, making the picture larger. The woman returned to her seat, letting the speeder idle on the ramp. Gyris, dressed like a well-off businessman, walked toward the huge glass doors.  
One of the two doormen dressed in red jackets opened the tall door. He walked in, entering the lobby. She lost sight of him.  
The screen shifted again after a brief burst of static. The lobby, she saw, was huge. A fountain sprayed water in the air, and exotic plants were potted all over. He crossed it without paying any of it a second look. As Gyris passed the reception desk, the droid glanced up but didn't stop him. He went there often, then?  
He entered a turbolift, but the picture didn't change until he had reached the fortieth floor. Then it flipped to the cam in the hall. She watched him go to an office at the end and pause. After a moment, the door flashed open. He walked inside, and it closed.  
Kirah waited for the office to appear, but it never did. On the bottom, Fletch said, "If there's cams in there, they've got to be closed circuit. Can't find them."  
Kirah finally began entering her own message with the stylus. "Find out whose office that is," she wrote.  
Five minutes passed before the answer appeared. "Vice-pres Carlton Vince," he wrote back. "Funny. This says he's on a business trip to Corellia."  
"Who's in the office?" she scribbled. "Strange place for a meeting."  
"Dunno," was Fletch's response. "Now what?"  
"Find out," Kirah wrote. "Fire alarm."  
She could almost hear Fletch's amused cackling as seconds ticked by slowly. Then, suddenly, bright emergency lights began flashing on and off. She imagined the loud Klaxons blaring through the formerly quiet building and chuckled to herself.  
The door she was watching streaked up and Gyris appeared, his hand sliding beneath his lapel. Red eyes flickered across the hall, but there was no one there that Kirah could see. Apparently, he agreed with her assessment because he removed his hand and gestured.  
A second man, a tall, wiring-looking human male of about forty, slipped out, holding the briefcase Gyris had been carrying. He took the lead, looking around warily. Success, she thought, grinning to herself. Impatiently, and painfully curious, she waited for Fletch's report to pop up.  
It took a moment. Finally, as they were joining the crowd outside, the report appeared. It seemed his name was. . . she blinked, then frowned. "What are you doing, Gyris?" she murmured.  
The other man's record named him as Trent Di-fount. Di-fount, translated from Fornaughti, meant silver rose. Then she slapped the steering wheel, proud of herself for an insight. Silver Rose was a band from home. She remembered them because they were becoming popular just before her conscription. She had bought their music chip, and she had gone to their concert at the Atochian Grand Days Festival that last year on Atochi. And unless she was imagining things, hadn't their lead singer been named Karston Trent?  
Slowly, her excitement faded. So he had used word games to make his name. He was from the Unknown Regions, like Gyris. What did it mean?  
Fletch's assessment scrolled onto the screen. "Record checks out," he wrote.  
She picked up the stylus and said, "The record's wrong. Check better." She turned her attention to the live picture. People were still milling about out front as the fire team arrived with their sirens. But she couldn't locate Gyris or Trent.  
"Shit," she said, writing another message. "Lost them. Forget the record, get them back!"  
The screen began flipping to nearby areas. The limo was gone, probably without the passenger she had brought. After several moments, he wrote, "Gone. Sorry. Come home?"  
She sighed and began to drive again. She still had time to kill now, so she did make her way to the outskirts of Salzantore, where rather decent living conditions existed in relative safety. After refueling, she stopped at one apartment complex and went to an apartment on the eighth floor. Fletch lived here full-time, and she stayed here whenever possible, preferring it to the warehouse. The refresher, in particular, was several levels above the Den Mercs' facilities.  
Fletch was lounging on the couch, drinking an ale. His feet, clad in black socks, were up on the entertainment table in front of the couch as he watched a holovid. When she entered, he grinned and said, "Hey, Kaye. Wondered if you were gonna come."  
"Yeah, well, I have. . ." She glanced at her watch. "Four hours until I've got to meet Gyris in the Square. Give me something to do."  
"Well, how about this. Your Di-fount guy's record checks out. I backtracked him through references that panned out, who had references that panned out."  
"Listen to me," Kirah said, dropping onto an overstuffed leather chair. "He's a fake. My partner's name is Gyris. That name's from Fornaughti legend. Gyris was the god of lightning."  
"Fornaughti?" he echoed. "What's that?"  
"Aliens from the Unknowns," she said. "I speak their language. And he's using a name from their mythology."  
"What's that got to do with our pal Di-fount?"  
"Di-fount is Fornaughti for silver rose. There's a band in the Unknowns which is called Silver Rose, and their lead singer's name is Trent."  
Fletch whistled in appreciation. "Unless it's coincidence," he said, "then whoever made that record is about as good at it as I am. Never seen a fake that good before. 'Cept for ours, course. You have a theory yet?"  
Kirah sighed and said, "Gods, I wish I did."  
"You know," Fletch said slowly, "that probably means this Gyris dude's record's as fake as Trent's."  
"Yeah," Kirah said.  
"Maybe he's not as good as all that."  
Kirah shook her head. "I wish," she said. "No, he's really good. I can tell."  
"So what's the deal?"  
She shrugged irritably. "Who knows? But if he's a mercenary, I'll turn myself in."  
Fletch looked startled. "He ain't a merc?"  
"I don't know," she said. "I don't think so."  
"Then what is he?"  
Kirah had just spent several hours wondering that herself. "I don't know," she said again. "If I knew, I wouldn't be here bitching about it."  
"Sorry," he laughed. Then he turned serious. "Why d'you think that?"  
"Well. . . ." Kirah said slowly, "lots of things. He speaks properly, for one."  
"So do you."  
"But I'm not a mercenary. Not really."  
He snorted. "No? Then what are you?"  
She gave him a sour look. "He's too... nice. Maybe that's not the words for it. I don't know. We were sparring and he hit me in the head, and then he stopped and asked if I was alright. Not taunting or anything, just a little concerned, I guess. He's not cocky or arrogant or rude."  
"Sounds like you."  
"He is like me, only a little more so."  
"Frightening," Fletch laughed. "So what is he? Law enforcement, you think?"  
"He ripped off the bank vault," she replied.  
"Oh, that was him?" he asked. "So no?"  
"Doubtful," she replied. "But I have no idea. Cop, bounty hunter, spy. . . ."  
"Bounty hunter?" Fletch asked. "Don't they normally talk and behave naughty just like mercs?"  
"Not all of them," she replied. "Boba Fett, for example, doesn't talk much, but when he does, he can string a few words together with good grammar. Or so I've heard."  
"Oh," Fletch chuckled. "So now he's Boba Fett?"  
"Possible," she said. "I doubt it, but you never know."  
Fletch thought that was funny. "You're too much," he said.  
"I hate to break it to you," she said, giving him an annoyed look, "but you happen to have a huge bounty, remember, Vik? One that even Fett might be interested in. And it's not like you even know what he looks like anyway."  
"Sure I do," he said, looking mildly offended.  
Startled, Kirah said, "You do?"  
"Sure," he said. "You know, armor and the helmet with the antenna—"  
"Damn, Fletch, I mean under that! Maybe he looks like Gyris under his helmet."  
He frowned and said, "You're not serious."  
"Not really," she sighed. "But the point is, we don't know who he is."  
Fletch grimaced and took a long swig of ale. Finally, he said, "Okay."  
"Any way you look at it," Kirah said, "it can't be good that he's gotten into the group. When it breaks, whatever 'it' is, if we're in the middle, we're in trouble."  
He hesitated, then said, "You think we should go?"  
"I think it might be a good idea to start transferring our credits to some anonymous accounts on other worlds," she said, "but let's wait it out a little more before leaving." 


End file.
